They had that in common too.
“Yeah, I will.” Luke paused, then added, “This town’s been keeping it together mostly, but this murder is going to change everything.”
“Yes. Get some rest, Luke. Check in tomorrow.”
“Right.”
—
“THIS STRONG WOMAN is worried,” Miranda said as her husband pushed the speaker button on the phone to end the connection and then came to join her on the sofa in front of a low fire. Nearly June or not, there was still patchy snow all around their comfortable mountain aerie.
“So am I, love,” Bishop confessed. “But Luke has more than proven he’s one of our top team leaders. Together, he and Sam are a formidable pair.”
“I know that. I just wish . . .”
“That we could tell them? Warn them?”
It could help.
It could also make things immeasurably worse. We agreed, remember?
Aloud, she said, “We could have warned them he’s psychic.”
“They figured that out quickly enough.”
“What about the price, Noah? The price of our silence. If he touched Sam’s mind and Robbie’s . . . he’ll try to use that to his advantage. And if he was powerful enough to drop Sam in an instant, then he’s too powerful.”
“I know that. And so does Luke.”
“If they’d known in advance, they would have been more guarded. He might not have gotten in at all.”
Bishop pulled his wife even closer. “We both learned long ago the difference between prediction and prophesy. Do you really believe anything we could have told them would have changed a future we both saw?”
“I don’t know. No . . . I suppose not. It’s just . . . so many of our people have to go through some sort of baptism of fire, either before they join the team or after. They work their asses off to make the world better. To save lives. To destroy monsters. The universe made them psychic, and God knows that’s enough of a burden. Why these . . . tests?”
“I can’t speak for the universe.”
Miranda gave him a look.
“But if I could, it would probably be in clichés. What doesn’t destroy us makes us stronger, for instance. You’re stronger for what you’ve been through, as brutally painful as some of it has been. So am I. So is every member of the team.”
Steadily, she said, “Yeah, but sometimes, if things get really bad, people do get destroyed.”
“We didn’t see that.”
“We saw the possibility.”
He was silent.
“We saw darkness, Noah. A darkness neither of us has ever seen before. What if they aren’t strong enough to fight that?”
“They have to be,” he said simply.
She half shook her head. “We’ve been incredibly lucky as a unit; if our agents weren’t psychics, half of them would be dead.”
“Not half,” he objected.
Miranda couldn’t manage a smile. “I just . . . I have a bad feeling about this one. Over and above what we saw. That maybe our luck has finally run out.”
“You know I don’t believe in luck.”
“I know. Still.”
“You want to go down there, don’t you?”
“I think . . . we need to be closer than we are. Not in town, not visible, but nearby.”
“And if he senses us?”
That did conjure a smile. “If he senses us, love, he pretty much has to be that ‘perfect psychic’ you’ve been waiting for. And if he’s that, if darkness instead of light got your perfect psychic, then we have to fight him with everything we’ve got. And much better to meet him on our terms than on his.”
“You’ve got a point.” He paused. “Then again, he could just be your garden-variety psycho with one of our tools in his toolbox. Or something like one of our tools. Something more than telepathy.”
“Either way, I think we need to be closer. Not because Luke and the others can’t handle themselves, but because of what we saw. I don’t know how they’re going to handle that. Do you?”
“No,” Bishop admitted. “I don’t. Especially Luke. He’s good at finding people. Not good at losing them.”
—
ROBBIE AND DANTE did their best to help Jonah and his officers as they went about the grim task of looking for evidence on and around the body of their fallen comrade, but they quickly discovered that their best was simply to keep their distance and keep a respectful silence.
“Sorry,” Jonah said as he paused briefly near them. “They don’t really blame you, it’s just . . .”
“It’s okay,” Robbie said, keeping her voice low and matter-of-fact. “We get it. Nobody died until we came to town, at least that they know of. They’ve needed somebody to blame for weeks. We can take it.”
Jonah frowned. “It’s irrational, and in their right minds they know it. Once her—once Annie is taken to the morgue at the clinic and Dr. Calder gets started on the post, I’m calling a meeting at the station. Probably best if you two don’t come.”
Dante was nodding, but Robbie said, “Don’t be too hard on them, okay? They need time to process what’s happened. So do you.”
“Yeah. My head gets that.” He continued on.
Robbie sighed. “Why do I get the feeling he’s blaming himself for Annie’s murder?”
“You’re not reading him?”
“Are you kidding? After this maniac got into my head before, I closed up tight as a drum. I don’t want to read anybody.”
“Listen, it was you who told me that’s not healthy.”
“Over the long term, it isn’t,” she replied. “But it’s night, his favorite time to hunt, and I’m betting he’s close enough to watch this. This is the show he’s been denied so far. A spellbound audience for his work. And I really hope he isn’t realizing it.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“No, me either. If he decides he likes this show more than his abracadabra abductions, we’re really in trouble. Does he want to stay mysterious and watch the town slowly tear itself apart? Or would he rather do this again and watch it happen faster?”
“You think that’ll happen? Destroy the town?”
Robbie waited while two cops with set expressions walked past them without a glance, then said, “It’s already happening. When people disappear, those left behind can hope. But with every day that passes and he isn’t caught, there isn’t even a decent lead, and more people disappear, hope turns in on itself. Maybe the cops aren’t working hard enough? Let’s blame them. The FBI should be able to find people, right? Let’s blame them. Or maybe . . . maybe it’s somebody they know. Neighbor suspects neighbor. Friend suspects friend. Spouses suspect each other.” Robbie paused, then finished, “Murdered bodies start turning up, and muttered questions and deflected blame won’t be enough for these people. Things will start to get loud and ugly.”
“That does not sound fun.”
“No. It won’t be. Not for anyone.” Robbie sighed. “Small towns depend on community more than cities do. Neighbor helping neighbor. Everybody coming together in a crisis. But this . . . it’s been weeks and they feel helpless. After this murder, helpless is going to turn to angry.”
“Great.”
They were standing near the opening of the taped-off alley, which gave them a clear view into the tent where Annie Duncan lay as well as a good look at how much more active the downtown area had become, and not just with cops.
They were certainly frightened of the predator hunting among them, but this, this brutally murdered officer, was the first tangible evidence the people of Serenity could actually see. Even if all they saw was a small white tent with grim-faced CSU and other officers moving about, as well as the coroner, who had gone into the tent for a while but now waited patiently, expressionless, leaning back against the tailgate of an old black hearse with a magnetic CORONER sign clapped to each of the front doors.